Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me
by Fade131
Summary: He is not alone.  Schuldig/Ran, Crawford/Schuldig, rated for intense level of creepiness.  Originally posted 11.11.2007


**Author's Note: **Inspired by an RP in which Schuldig (and Crawford) murdered someone (not Ran, I can't remember who) sexily. Somehow. Admittedly this is creepy and fucked up and wrong.

...

..**  
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He is not alone.

He wants to say he is, because there is no one there. No one in the room. But he can feel that there _should_ be someone there, in the corner of his mind. He can feel the person who _is_ there, who he can't see, who's driving him _insane_ with this. Dragging him down with this. Twisting it all up until it's one big mess in the back of his head, and he can feel it all. He's unbalanced by it, shaking with it, he can't control it. He wants to lash out, to fight, to take the katana (_on the floor, next to his feet, where he dropped it when the room stopped being empty and started being something else_) and hack through this nightmare until there's nothing left of it. Nothing but red and cold.

He is **not** alone.

It's pulsing now, shaking through him, making him _quake_ with it because it stings through his mind, a thought not his own. No, he didn't think it, the other did, the one in the room that he can't see, and the room is going with him now, it's starting to be less a place and more an idea, just like he is, and he suddenly, fervently hopes that the person in the room with him is who he _thinks_ it is, because otherwise he doesn't want to know, not ever. Only that person could make his mind twist like this, he thinks to himself, he thinks to the other in the room. Only _that person_.

And then he is alone.

No warning, only silence, and his anger comes back to him in hot waves that make his vision flicker for a moment, struck by it. He says nothing, standing there, bending over to pick up the weapon at his feet, eyes scanning the room for his enemy even though he knows he'll find nothing. He doesn't know. He can't ever know. He's angry now, though, and that helps shake off the last vestiges of of shimmering cold (_but oh god he'll never get the feeling out of his mind, never, never_) and start to look for his team, to wonder what happened to them while he was suspended in that room. But even as he walks down the hallway he knows, suddenly, that walking away isn't going to be an option.

And then he can see them.

It would have to be both, wouldn't it, so that one could see what he would do, and one could see inside his head? The thought flickers to existence, is snuffed out precisely and adeptly by the foreign presence in his head and it's all cold again, cold like in the room but without the fear of the person he can't see, because Crawford and Schuldig are _right there_, how could he have missed them before? He stops because trying to keep walking would mean showing the weakness invading his body, making him shake. He cannot show them that, even if they do know it's there.

"Ah, katschen. Stop _fighting_~"

Schuldig's voice is too loud, inside his head and outside it, and Ran flinches back but the German is too fast, far too fast, and he's caught before he can fall. Caught and spread out on the floor, wrists pinned, jacket fanned behind him, Schuldig's legs on either side of his hips, holding him down. Trapped. Trapped with Crawford leaning against the wall, starring into his eyes and smirking like he knows that Ran's usual icy rage will melt, will crack and thaw to anguish and fear so quickly.

Then the hallway isn't there.

Aya kisses his cheek and smiles down at him, her hair tumbling all around them, _and he knows it can't be real_, but she's glowing with happiness like an angel and he can't help but start to smile back, try to reach for her (_why can't he move, why can't he touch her?_), try to ask her what's happening, why is this happening, he thought she was-

_Gone_.

He's left gasping, shaking, torn, eyes wild under Schuldig's grinning condescension, and he knows he can't escape this. He won't escape this. Not when the German can arrest his very thoughts so completely. And that is when he starts to struggle, to bite and claw and scream with rage and hope that _someone_ is still in this empty building that will hear him and stop them, _please, God..._

"What did I say to you?"

He's not fighting anymore. He can't remember why he was fighting. He can barely remember his own name through the haze of pain and life and breath and pleasure and it's all twisted again, because this isn't how it's supposed to go. He isn't supposed to be naked on the floor with Schuldig's interested hands caressing his chest, with Schuldig's expert tongue delving into his mouth, with Schuldig's frightening mind pressed so hard into his that he's seeing stars, with Crawford sitting on the floor now, looking less in control of himself than Ran had ever seen him. This is not supposed to be.

_But it is, katschen,_ the voice whispers. _It is supposed to be like this._

He knows what Schuldig is knows because it comes with the words, the knowledge that he can either _know_, completely, or be swept away by it. It doesn't matter to the German, it will not be different if he knows. Ran wants to know. He wants to know every second of it. And so he finds himself kissing his enemy, eyes closed in a way the German finds completely amusing, body trembling with pleasure from the skilled fingers digging through his brain, pressing here, caressing there, searching for something, searching for-

Searching for the bottom, the plug in the drain, and grasping hold of it tightly.

Ran almost screams because he knows what _that _is, and he can't help but be afraid now with those fingers in his head, even though Schuldig's fingers are on his sides and Schuldig's pretty green eyes are smiling, almost gentle, almost kind. His mouth opens but no sound comes out, and the feeling in his head twists like something different and pleasure rushes through him again so quickly he almost moans but Crawford does that for him, pressed against the wall so hard he's going to hurt himself, eyes glazing a little behind his glasses, and he's saying something to Schuldig that Ran can't hear and then it's too much all at once.

Schuldig _pulls_ and the plug is gone and it's all rushing out, rushing through him and rushing through Crawford and he can only see white, can only feel the redhead's body underneath him arch with him, _can hear everything, Ran's fear and relief, Crawford's hot pleasure, the other kittens far below, in the basement, in the room he wasn't in, afraid for their teammate, the people on the street, in the next building, in all the buildings, in all the streets, **everywhere**-_

Crawford almost brings him back to it, pressed against his back, gripping him to keep them both grounded even though they aren't, Schuldig's flying through everything and Crawford's come along for the ride, but he can feel the warmth leaving the body below him and even though he wants to chase that last bit of life through the streets he lets Crawford pull him back, drag him against his chest and towards the wall and they just sit there, panting, until Schuldig starts to laugh. And maybe Crawford laughs too, because Schuldig smiles like a pleased child against him, and closes his eyes.

He is not alone.


End file.
